New York Billionaires Series

I have to hide a smile as I open up a new client profile. Perhaps this is the way to crack him, then. Friendly competition and bets. He can’t help but be drawn in by them, intrigued despite himself.

“What age span are you interested in?”

He gives a faint sigh, like he can’t believe he’s sitting here, answering this. “I’ve never considered one before.”

“Well, you’re thirty-three,” I say. “How about we put you down for twenty-five to thirty-five, give or take a few years on either end?”

“Sure.”

“How would you describe your ideal relationship?”

There’s complete silence on the other side of the desk. I look over to see him wearing an expression somewhere between masculine exasperation and pain. It’s clear he’s rethinking this bet.

“We can skip that one,” I say. “Moving on, moving on… I just need enough to set you up with women I think you’d enjoy spending time with.”

“I’m not picky,” he responds. “They need to be able to hold up their side of a conversation. Some humor.”

I’ve never met a single person who said they weren’t picky and actually meant it. People who claim to have no demands inevitably have the most.

But I can’t tell him that.

So I smile and make a note of it in his application. “Humor’s important for you, then. How about I ask you a few easy questions? These are some fun prompts we use to get a sense of a client’s personality.”

He sighs again, like I’m imposing on him. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite holiday?”

“My favorite holiday?”

“Michaelmas.”

“Really?”

His lips twitch. “No,” he says. “I shouldn’t mock you.”

“Not if we’re going to do this bet properly.”

“Christmas, then. Put me down for Christmas.”

I write down a great deal more than simply “Christmas.” Sarcastic, dry sense of humor. Dislikes pretense. Needs a patient hand.

“That’s a great choice,” I say.

“Is this the part where you praise me for my responses again?”

I tilt my head in acknowledgement. “Right, you didn’t enjoy that. I’ll refrain. Now, here’s another prompt… What’s the best part of your day?”

He taps his hands along the armrest, gaze turning to Ace. My dog has sprawled out beside Anthony’s chair like he’s never been more relaxed in his life.

“My morning cup of coffee,” he replies.

I note it down, and I know I shouldn’t comment, but… “Yet you didn’t want a coffee when you came here yesterday.”

“I doubt your machine is very good.”

I glance up at him, but there’s a wryness to his features. He knows he’s being provocative.

I give a one-shouldered shrug. “Compared to whatever fancy one you have at home, it’s likely not, no.”

He nods. Looks past me again.

I clear my throat and return to my prompts. They’re fun, easy ways to establish rapport with a client. To tease out things about their personality you’d never get from asking people to describe themselves.

I’ll establish rapport with Anthony Winter, even if I have to be the one doing eighty percent of the work.

“Have you ever broken any bones?”

His eyebrows rise, but he responds. “A collarbone. Left wrist.”

“You’re not left-handed?”

“No, right.”

“How did it happen?”

“I used to climb.” He turns his head back to the pictures of the wall, breaking eye contact. “It doesn’t always go as planned.”

An accident, then. Not that getting information out of him is easy.

“That sounds thrilling, climbing,” I comment, noting adventurous on his client profile. “I’ve only tried on one of those indoor gyms once. God, that was difficult.”

“Hmm,” he says.

“I didn’t plan on going, but it was with a boyfriend, and he insisted. It didn’t last. My interest in climbing, I mean. Well, he didn’t last, either.”This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

I never ramble on like this with a client. But here I am, filling up the silence. Perhaps he’ll feel more comfortable if I make a fool of myself.

Anthony’s gaze shifts back to me. “Indoor climbing gyms aren’t fun. He should have taken you somewhere outdoors.”

I clear my throat. “Yes. Well, perhaps one day. Let’s see here… oh, this is a fun one. Give me two truths and a lie about yourself.”

“Two truths and a lie?”

“Yes. I’ll see if I can parcel out the lie.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and glances back at the half-open door to my office. “I’m born in January, my social security number ends in thirty-seven, and this suit is new.”

Oh, this man is frustrating.